


innocent as a rose

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anyways, M/M, Protective Gabriel, i have a feeling that tag is for supernatural isnt it, like. uncomfortably so, oh well its mine now, ok i cant fucking breathe why is aziraphales barber a canon chara tag, who the fuck is writing that that much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23159731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: gabriel toes the line between ensuring aziraphale's safety, and coming off as--more or less--a belligerent, overbearing dolt
Relationships: Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: gomens drabble hell [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Kudos: 34





	innocent as a rose

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to the sound of music soundtrack one too many times and this happened,, sixteen going on seventeen rlly is the peak gabriphale song

"Listen, this isn't a reprimand, none of your recent escapades have had any affect on your professional career. It's your personal life that concerns me--I just want you safe, that's all." Gabriel explains his tired monologue in a fashion so patronizing, so unbelievably sugar-coated in various degrees of escalating bullshit--it's a wonder he doesn't think Aziraphale so infantile he ought to carry him back to Heaven right there and then.

His eyes crinkle with his too wide, too bright smile. Perfect teeth on full, glorious display. He laughs--though it rather sounds like something more of a scoff--and pats Aziraphale's shoulder. The brief second's worth of a squeeze that follows after is enough to leave Aziraphale swallowing down a gag.

He bites at the inside of his cheek, gnaws on the tender flesh there. Even the noxious grind of his own molars is soothing when put in contrast with Gabriel's general demeanor.

Still, he gathers himself well enough to formulate a response consisting of more than a simple _hrm,_ or _hm,_ or other one-syllable sounds.

"Ah, of course, Sir. I'll keep that in mind." he says, the light, airiness to his tone feeling rather like sheets pulled taut over a mattress far too wide for them--he's barely covering up his irritation. Thinking better of a continued conversation, he turns to tend to the empty space in his bookshelf. A lesser-valued book had fallen victim to a particularly incessant customer earlier this week. Aziraphale, ever eager to enjoy his own quiet company, and little more than that, recommended the novel in a last-ditch attempt at getting the man to leave.

Reorganization, however tedious it might be, is a bandage for the soul itself. At least, that's how it feels to Aziraphale. A pleasant distraction at the worst of times. And any time spent with Gabriel is bound to fall under that category.

By the time he turns back around, Gabriel's vanished. A void of cozy, comfortable home warming the space he'd been previously occupying. Breathing out through his nose, letting his weary lungs ache, Aziraphale's relieved.

His boss must have headed back upstairs already, no point in dithering on about it. He can calm down, have a cup of tea. Maybe cocoa--with marshmallows, if he's feeling particularly decadent.

"You let your guard down too often." Gabriel's pristine, polished lilt ringing hard in his ear--closer than it had any fathomable right, coinciding with _any_ Great Plan, divine or otherwise unstated, to be--sends Aziraphale scrambling. Quite literally tripping over his own feet. 

He jolts, tries to scrabble away on instinct, really only ending up dropping his replacement book in the process.

"See, just like that. Just now, if I'd been a demon, I could have absconded with you. No trouble, no struggle." Gabriel continues on with his lecture. Either too oblivious to tell Aziraphale is in no state to listen, or too convinced of his own moral prerogative to truly care. Shaking his head just ridiculously enough to tempt Aziraphale into clocking him halfway to a new century.

He squeezes his fingers into a tight, furled-up fist instead. Patience is a virtue, he reminds himself. And soon enough, this will all be over. Soon enough, Gabriel will be gone. He just has to wait.

"I highly doubt any roguish demons would set their sights on an angel such as myself. Nor would they wish to _abscond_ with me." Aziraphale edges around the outskirts of completely blowing Gabriel off.

"You underestimate the extent of Hell's depravity, Aziraphale. I just--" Gabriel hesitates, shaking off whatever tremor of a subconscious anxiety he could. He stares at the floor, seems to be measuring the distance between a genuine expression of emotion, and more coddling drivel.

He sucks in air between his teeth, puffs it back out like it's done something to personally offend him. Kneeling down slightly, just to be eye-level with Aziraphale, he starts to speak again.

"With the Demon Crowley, his presence here on Earth, and his--you know-- _reputation_ \--"

He gestures vaguely, wildly with his hands. Aziraphale nods, only pretending to understand.

"I can't help worrying about you." he swallows his pride through the admission, barely managing to meet Aziraphale's eyes the whole while.

"You're too trusting, too naive. You're just so… _vulnerable,_ like this. All cooped up, down here by yourself.

Aziraphale, for the first time in a dozen centuries, finds himself speechless. His throat dry, clotted with the lump of emotion held back by the thinnest, straining thread.

"Well," he says, giving himself a minute to get his senses back in working order.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't see any reason why you couldn't pop 'round the shop every now and then. More often than you already are, I mean."

Gabriel rattles the concept around through his brain. Considers all the positives. And slowly, his earnest, gleaming smile is back to dominating all other facial features.

"Excellent idea, Aziraphale. You've always been a bright one. I'll be here tomorrow. Stay home at five, roughly, give or take a few hours. See you then!" he exclaims, rustling Aziraphale by his shoulders for the (thankfully) last time. He's out of the bookshop without another word on the matter. Aziraphale, in all his stunned, nerve-wracked exhaustion, can only stand silently. Left alone to contemplate what in God's Glorious Name had just happened.

Well, he thinks, nothing a good glass of wine and Sondheim can't fix. He settles down into his chair, tucks a warm shawl over his shoulders, and prepares himself for forgetting the events of the day.


End file.
